Visit my Link to Roscoe

Well my good friend Roscoe who I remember first meeting in third grade when I moved to a new school, we were strangers to this school but my brother toilets made friends quickly and we ended up hanging out with Roscoe's family. I remember vividly meeting this family along with Roscoe, we have been good friends for 40 years. Roscoe and his twin brother on my first visit to their home taught me how to make a triple decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich.The sandwich was awful but the friendship endured.
Today I visited Roscoe in the hospital and he opened his eyes once, he has a number of health issues and at this moment has tubes up his nose and down his throat, he was given a 20% chance of surviving on Wednesday. He is doing better, "Critical Stability" is how the nurse described his condition.
Roscoe is what every person should strive to be, he has not whined or complained since I have met him, but every card dealt seems to offer him a bad hand.
I have a framed review of his book review in Racer X (Thanks Sleekpelt for recognizing his brilliance) which I have been carrying around for months and now that I take my head out of me arse I realize I should have dropped it off earlier.I copied and pasted a excerpt from Travels with Roscoe from his blog site.
He has been in and out of the hospital the last few weeks and it really is heartbreaking to see such a good man suffer so much. So visit his site, do not whine about your life (I include myself) and keep him in your favorites.A rare man with more than enough character to share with a city approaching the size of NY.
I may have already lost the reader by now its just me venting, I am tormented by hearing of his health decline and to see him today I feel ashamed of my own selfishness, I know I would not survive what he has, but he is Roscoe and he may bounce back and amaze us once again.
So I suppose the gist of this post is stop whining, read some Roscoe and wish him the best, because he is not in the least bit comfortable.

Excerpt from Travels with Roscoe:

Stood still on a highway. I saw a woman by the side of the road with a face that I knew like my own, reflected in my window. Well she walked up to my quarter light and she bent down real slow. A fearful pressure paralyzed me in my shadow. She said, "Son, what are you doing here... My fear for you has turned me in my grave." I said "Mama I come to the valley of the rich... Myself to sell." She said, "Son, this is the road to Hell. " - Chris Rea

The road with a chimpanzee and a 300-pound carnival ride operator, conversation of an intellectual nature expired 400 miles earlier. Tater shakes the TV Guide and points to Larry King who will interview Janet Reno. Freak Show's response is enthusiastically oppositional. The Man Show will host a Wet T-shirt contest. When we bivouac for the night and align the satellite dish, I'll cast the deciding vote. Prey we spy Janet Reno in a wet T-shirt contest.

Strange and amazing places like Bald Knob, Beaver, Dogpatch and Toad Suck are called home in Arkansas and thrill my traveling companions. The two-story out house at the Booger Hollow Trading Post, along Scenic 7 Byway, in Dover creates quite a splash. (Rivaled by Bell Plaine, Minnesota; Gays, Illinois; and Phelps, NY all home to the world's one and only.) At Fouke/ Texarkana, you hear the tail of the Boggy Creek Monster. My pilgrimage follows Robert Johnson, master of the blues. Written in song and legend, we make for the junction of 49 & 61 near Helena. "It is the Crossroads to Eternity." accounts Willie Coffee, Johnson's life long friend.

Night fell and time to eat. To make up for the TV show commotion, Freak Show wanted to treat us to dinner. He knew of a great truck stop. We topped a hill in the full moon light to come upon the Moldy Dumpster Slop & Fuel. On a good day it could be described as a roach house - a shack with a half operational neon sign buzzing and popping away in the parking lot. Freak Show rubbed his hands together and assured us that it would be great. As we entered the fly covered screen door, Freak was welcomed with hardy handshakes and pats on the back. "Come on in, we're monkey friendly!." Show commented on how the area had changed. They replied, "When they closed down the slaughterhouse, the neighborhood turned to crap."

After a nice visit and a Chili Bucket with Mushrooms, it was time to hit the road. Show offered to take over my driving duties.

It might have been 20 minutes later. Who knows? An odor wretched from the belly of Hell enveloped the camper in a green/yellow mist. My vision blurred as the caravan shook violently. I yelled to our pilot, "Be careful! You're going off the road!" He responded, "Which side!" Within the cyclone, I felt like I would purge my gut. We stopped and as I extricated myself from under the dashboard, I looked at Freak Show. His eyes blazed ruby red. His beard moved, entwined by reptiles. In a voice unheard before he growled, "Your soul to become the best rider of all."

I'll pass. I'll shoot for mediocrity and take my chances. Besides that, the chili was lousy. Quit screwing around!" The demon looked past me to the chimp. "How about you?" Tater convulsed.A horrific screech burst forth, the wind swirled. . . silence.